It's the not-knowing that eats away at your mind. I've never been at all organised, but I do like to be able to imagine exactly how things will turn out. As it is, I don't dare to begin the process of carefully crafting the mental picture of my life in four month's time.
Exams are almost over. Just three days stand between me and a summer free from the soul-destroying opression of revision - I'm not being overdramatic in stating that this is how I feel about revision (but perhaps a little in having those feelings). Strange how the prospect of a drawn-out period of free time is frightening. The two months between now and results day is a lot of time to torture myself with relentlessly replaying in my head precisely what I wrote in each exam, what percentages I need for every possible grade, the best and worst outcomes and what I will do after that.There are many different ways things might turn out, and I don't like to visualise any of them. I can't daydream about the two As and an A* that would take me to Cambridge, because I don't think I could bear the disappointment of having my dream (for want of a less clichéd word) dissolve. I understand that the system of conditional university places is necessary, but I truly resent having my future dangled mockingly in front of me. Likewise, I don't want to get my hopes up by imagining the three As that would allow me the still desirable place at Durham. A third outcome is having to obtain a place through Clearing, and the uncertainty of where I could end up terrifies me. The final option is taking a year out to resit and reapply, and the horrendous idea of going through UCAS once more, staying at home for another twelve months while my friends go off to university, and worst of all doing A Levels all over again, is a nightmare scenario that I can't bring myself to entertain.
If I knew, right now, that all was lost and my worst fears were realised and UCAS was one big, hellish waste of time, would I prefer it to this state of limbo? Probably not, because at least for the moment there is the possibility of self-reassurance, even if it turns out to be delusion. And yet, there's a part of me that prefers the idea of throwing myself wholeheartedly into a pit of despair than teetering agonisingly on the brink of feeling anything. At present I despise the entire institution of examinations. There are so many things I detest about it...
I hate the way I'm only worth whatever I can prove I know in a test. I hate the way everything can be snatched away if I don't live up to expectations. I hate the way the only comfort anyone can give is 'I know you'll be fine' when they don't know that at all, and I hate the way the same lie issues from my mouth to others. I hate the way one mark might be the difference between the path I desperately want to go down and that path being erased for me forever. I hate the way I want something so much but don't work enough for it because of my inherent defence mechanism when faced with pressure: to hide and pretend the day will never come, creating a bubble of false happiness based on the myth that ignorance is bliss.
On the outside I look quite calm, and I say things like 'Ah well, just have to wait and see how things turn out!' as though that's fine by me and I can deal with anything results day might hand me. Inside I'm going to be plagued by biting anxiety until Thursday 19th August, and there's really nothing anybody can do about it.
